


Omega Jack Prompts

by GaysAndGore



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha Rhys (Borderlands), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Atlas CEO Rhys, Back Pain, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fertility Issues, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, More tags to come as I write more prompts, Mpreg, Omega Jack, Pregnancy, Riding, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Trans Jack, Trans Male Character, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaysAndGore/pseuds/GaysAndGore
Summary: A collection of (usually pregnant) omega Jack, as sent to me on Tumblr. Find me at @Hyperions-Strap on Tumblr, or @Hyperions_Strap on twitter!
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. Jack VS his chair.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's 6 months pregnant and his office chair is not accustomed to cater his fragile sore back.

Jack isn’t known for his patience on the best of days, but when carrying around a 3 pound developing baby (give or take) on his hips, influencing his mood and needs 24/7, it’s safe to say his patience is nonexistent. He can still do his job perfectly well, but there’s just more obstacles now. More nuisances that catch his attention, distract his focus, and cause him to act out.

Meetings are slow today, which should be a good thing, but all it means is Jack gets to spend more time sitting behind his desk, filtering between finance reports, and marketing contracts, and submissions for new weapons that can utilize the latest strain of Slag to its best ability. On most days that’s not too bad - a little boring, but all in all, harmless - but since entering his third trimester, he hates sitting at his desk.

Jack generally can’t sit anywhere for too long, less he faces the wrath of his backache getting unbearable. Sometimes the agony moves through his bones and cramps his limbs, or his chest, or his neck. It’s like his back commands the troops to torture his muscles. In most cases the only cure is a back massage, courtesy of his lover's fingers, but that's not an option currently. Rhys is at Atlas for a few hours, busy schmoozing some benefactors willing to fund his latest string of cryo sniper rifles. This means Jack has to begrudgingly power through the pain.

3 more months, give or take. That's how long he has left of suffering before the demon spawn draining his life will be in his arms. In theory, 3 months isn't a very long amount of time, but time moves so painstakingly slow when pregnant. He tries to remind himself the reward at the end is worth the pain, but then one of his hellish symptoms kicks in with a wrath.

His keyboard rattles as he types feverishly, until a strong, searing pain shoots up his spine. He sucks in sharply and holds his breath, freezing. The pain burns at his vertebrae, almost like it's being squeezed by hands caught on fire, determined to make his bones crack. He exhales heavily and leans back in his lavish office chair. He rests a hand on top of his round belly.

"Give daddy a break, will you, princess?" He tries to bargain with his unborn child, but there's no change in his state. The pain doesn't subside, and neither does his irritation. He rubs down his belly, sighing, looking down at his bloated midsection in disappointment. "You know your life is in my hands, right? You really shouldn't be pissing me off."

Silence.

Not that he'd expected a verbal response. He groans under his breath, hiking himself up and leaning over the desk. He pushes a button on his phone and waits patiently, drumming his fingers on his desk.

"This is Rhys Strongfork, CEO of Atlas corporation, how can I help you?"

He sounds so self righteous and smug, Jack can't help but snicker. "Hay, kitten, how's my favourite rival doing?" He leans back in his seat again. He places a hand on the small of his back and pushes his palm deep into his flesh, hoping to subside the pain. It's miniscule, may as well be nothing.

He hears a light cluttering as Rhys fusses over nick-nacks on his desk. "I should be the one checking in on you. How's our little girl?"

Jack rolls his eyes and sighs. "She's fine. I'm peachy too, thanks for asking."

"I was about to ask how you were too, don't get jealous."

Jack hates the smug, amused tone in his voice. "You could at least ask about me first, since I'm the one lugging around the brat." He rubs the underside of his belly. As usual, a strip of skin peaks free from the confines of his stretched sweater. Rhys has bought him a plethora of clothes to fit his ever growing form, but Jack still insists on wearing his faithful Hyperion sweater. The material is beyond stretched out now, it's working tirelessly to keep him modest, but it can't work miracles. A 6 month pregnant omega bump is too powerful for its cotton.

He hears further rustling on Rhys' end of the phone. He digs the heel of his palm into the side of his belly and holds his breath. A dull pain ricochets from his back round to his abdomen. He manages to distribute the pain and ease the intensity, but little can be done about his back.

"You know I've got baby brain, Jack. Nothing but babies - baby, baby, baby-- it's a curse!"

"Yeah, well you better force me back to front and center. I'm the one doing the hard work, not her."

Rhys laughs softly. "How _are_ you, Jack?" He asks sincerely, though amused. Jack is happy to know no matter what, he's still the one happily in charge of their relationship. Though social standards try to determine the alpha is in charge, especially when their omega is pregnant preparing to deliver, Jack and Rhys don't at all abide by those rules. They never have, and Jack most certainly never will. If Rhys were like other alphas, hot headed and stubborn, determined to dominate him like a foolish brute, Jack would have never agreed to having his baby. He'd been strict about the dynamics of their relationship, and determined to make sure his status as an omega was respected. Jack didn't have shame in his title - in fact, he wore it with pride.

He absentmindedly rubs his belly and exhales as the pain in his back momentarily subsides. "I'm alright, pumpkin. Craving something greasy."

"You sound wound up."

Jack snickers. "Do I? Probably being surrounded by knuckleheads." He laughs again, but the movement makes his back seizes up again, making him yelp embarrassingly. He clutches at the point of pain, and grinds his teeth as it shoots up through his spine like electricity following a circuit. He curses under his breath when he hears Rhys' distressed worries calling for him over the line. "Still here, don't worry."

"Are you okay?! What was that noise?!"

"That noise was me!" With great difficulty, Jack pushes himself out of his luxurious golden chair, arching his back and pushing into the point of discomfort with both his hands before taking one away to cup the base of his belly. Moving is starting to become more difficult by himself, much to his displeasure. Some days he needs Rhys to physically hoist him out of bed. He glares at his chair and begins walking around his desk in circles. "I'm fine though, don't fret."

"Jack, you're 6 months pregnant. All I do is worry." Rhys is moving around more now, changing scenes by the sounds of things as wind brushes by and external chatter fills the void. "I'm coming to see you."

"What?! Oh geez, that's not necessary--"

"When you're carrying around our baby, it's always necessary."

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates being fussed over, and that's all that happens these days. "No, really, it's not! It's just my damn back playing up!" He hears what he assumes to be Rhys stopping in his tracks. "The baby is fine and dandy though, kicking my bladder and making me the size of a whale. It's the office chair, makes me feel like someones ripping out my spine. I should start bringing a pillow from home."

"Why not buy a more comfortable chair? Don't they sell maternity chairs for working omegas?" Rhys' question is innocent enough, but it makes Jack irritated nevertheless. It's like admitting he's weak, that the chair has bested him. He doesn't realise he's growling until Rhys starts laughing. "It's probably more comfortable than the one you have anyway. Remember when we tried to have sex in it after the office party last year? I almost broke my leg."

Jack chuckles. "That's because you're too freakin' long! Those string beans you call legs weren't made for tight spaces." Jack looks down at the sphere supporting his hips, kneading his brows as he thinks. "Those omega special chairs are a scam though, it's to make possessive alphas like you spend your hard earned money and stroke your ego!"

"The reviews look pretty good to me."

"I don't give a rat's ass what the reviews are like." Jack yells back. He moves to sit back at his desk, but as if the cushions are made of spikes, he immediately yells out in pain and grips the wood of the desk for dear life. He curses so loud an echo reverberates around the office. He tries to power through, scooting forward, only to bump his belly off the desk edge and hurt himself that way. "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to airlock whoever made this desk just for inconveniencing me!"

Suddenly there's a knock at his office door. He frowns, looking at it before pressing a button to open the door. Rhys walks in with a smug smile, hanging up the comm he had with Jack.

"What, how did--"

"I took a fast travel. Come on, I'm taking you chair shopping."

Jack grumbles in annoyance, but after a tender back massage and belly rub, he gives in with little fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me ideas on Tumblr: @Hyperions-strap, or Twitter: @Hyperions_strap! I hope you enjoyed, let me know in the comments your thoughts 🙂


	2. Smell of success.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "for the abo prompts?: rhys and jack have been trying for a baby for a while. nothing seems to be working until one morning jack wakes up with his scent different and sweeter, and as it turns out, rhys is prolly a little too into the pregnant jack smell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt from my Tumblr! ✨💞

Jack lets his head hang like dead weight, trying to enjoy the feeling of Rhys' knot swollen inside him. His body is aching, only the sweet bliss of endorphins from his alpha knot relieves the pain. They've been having sex every available moment, it's only just starting to become tiresome and more of a chore than a pleasure. Jack always feels content afterwards, when Rhys is practically ready to pass out, and they just stay together, quiet, enjoying the release of their bonded pheromones wrapping around them both like a blanket.

It's more enjoyable for Jack when he's laying on his back, of course, but they've tried that dozens of times, they wanted to test other positions. Admittedly, appreciating how thick Rhys' knot is works best when he's sat up straight, riding him.

He rests his hands on Rhys shoulders, watching the younger man's chest slowly rise and fall with each steady breath. He doesn't even notice the touch of Rhys' flesh hand against his hip - not until there's an accompanied voice to match.

"Jack," his voice is barely even a whisper. It's wrecked from exhaustion, cracking under the weight of itself, but still manages to be quintessentially Rhys' at its core. Jack lifts his eyes to look at the younger man. His heart flutters when he sees him smiling. "How you feeling?"

There's a sorrowful silence for a mere second, before Jack exhales the heaviness cluttering his chest. "I'm fine, kiddo. How's your dick feeling?" He does his best to act normal, but the withering corners of his smile are more of a give away than he realises. Rhys extends a hand to stroke his cheek - the cold metal is surprisingly soothing against Jack's bare cheek, nice against the rough edges of his scar.

"It'll happen, Jack. These things just take time for some people."

Rhys' optimism is warming. It does surprisingly help Jack feel less broken, but it can't work miracles. They've been trying for months to get pregnant, but to no luck. They've seen doctors, fertility specialists, voodoo witches, and hippie love gurus claiming to know the secrets to a bountiful fertile bond, but nothing. There's nothing wrong with either of them, they're both perfectly fertile, everything is in working order, it's just a lack of lady luck, so to speak. Jack doesn't want to admit it, but having no success is beginning to weigh on his self worth more than he appreciates. He's never been a lovey dovey, family oriented, domestic omega, but something about starting a family with Rhys feels unexplainably right. He'd say it's destiny, but that's too cheesy for his liking.

Why couldn't they make a baby then? It seemed like child's play, any moron with a knot and an above average IQ could make it happen, but inexplicably Rhys and Jack couldn't. They'd synced their ruts and heats, they'd used fertility enhancements, they tried every old wives tale as far back as they went, but it seemed like fate had other plans. After a while, the frustration began to infuriate Jack. He wanted this so bad - to give Rhys the family he deserves. It's the one thing he can't threaten or bargain his way into getting! His status as an omega hasn't bothered him since he was a teenager, but now he can't help but resent himself.

He's lucky to be bonded with the most level-headed, docile alpha known to man. Jack could easily put down any knucklehead that pushed him too much, it didn't matter if they were an alpha or not, but having someone with patience and understanding certainly helped Jack's blood pressure. Sure, stereotypes about alphas and omegas weren't inherently true - Jack and Rhys were proof of that - but Jack couldn't deny when his hormones and pheromones got their heaviest and clouded his judgement, he certainly appreciated the loving embrace of an alpha that adored him no matter what.

After a while, Rhys' knot begins to go down, and Jack, with about as much grace as an oversized gorilla, pops off his lap and flops down beside him on the bed. His eyes shut the second his back meets the mattress. A hand rests against his flat stomach, playing with the coarse hairs covering his skin. Jack peers down to see Rhys watching him, content to do so forever.

"I should probably elevate my hips or some shit, right?" Jack teases, lifting said area and holding himself in position with his hands propped against the small of his back. "Keeps the baby goo inside or whatever."

Rhys grimaces, shaking his head. "Don't call it 'baby goo', that's disgusting."

"True though."

"It's cum - just call it cum!"

Jack laughs. He lets the lower half of his body fall back down, bouncing slightly against the springs. Rhys goes back to mindlessly playing with his belly hair, twirling it, sweeping it one way, enjoying how it feels. Jack tries to ignore the pestering voices crawling out of their hiding holes, telling him he's worthless, that all his accomplishments have been for nothing if he can't have a baby with Rhys. They tell him he deserves this, for all the bad he's done, for being a dictator, for being so selfish most of his adult life.

Rhys can see the wheels turning in Jack's head. The older man thinks he's subtle, but he's as easy to read as a kid's book. He rolls on to his front and crawls up to rest on Jack's chest, pouting playfully, walking his fingers up his biceps. Jack smiles softly.

"It'll happen." He says quietly, but it does little to reassure Jack. Rather, it makes him frown.

"What if it doesn't, huh? Will you be okay without a brat to take care off?"

"You're really convincing me you want this to begin with when you call it a brat." He laughs, but Jack rolls his eyes and turns away. It's harder on him, Rhys knows - it's always the way with omegas, but when your partner is hell-bent on denying old fashioned stereotypes associated with his status, it likely will result in deep seated repression, only to finally show itself in abrupt murderous rampages. Getting Jack to admit he even wanted kids to begin with had been a tedious trial, and it hurts him to know he opened a wound he can't heal.

Rhys takes Jack's face in both his hands and kisses him tenderly, drawing out the passion so it sinks in deep with Jack. He loves him more than words could ever begin to convey, even on his worst days, and he hates to know he can't immediately make things better with the flip of a switch.

"It," he kisses him again, "will," and again, "happen. I know it will." Rhys says on the end of a heavy breath, kissing him one more time for longer. Jack moans softly, his hand looping round to hold Rhys' waist.

"Will you be okay if it doesn't?" Jack sounds so fragile, maybe even a little scared. Rhys looks at him shocked before kissing his forehead.

"If we've still got each other, that's all that matters, okay?"

Jack accepts it for now, just so he can settle in for the night and get some sleep. It won't keep him happy forever. The inevitable self loathing will come back, stronger, but all he can do is keep going. He doesn't think Rhys is lying either - he probably will be okay with just Jack if they never have kids, but it's still scary to imagine a world where Jack's better half leaves him because he was some kind of detective omega. He puts his arms around Rhys and does his best to think of good things. Against all his instincts, he even says a soft prayer to himself, hoping for good news.

-

A few weeks go by with no change. They still fuck like rabbits and research any new fertility treatments available, but it's boring routine at that point. Eventually Jack suggests they think realistically about giving up, which Rhys fights him on and insists they just need to stay positive, but the older man gets serious fast. It's easy to assume Jack's just being his usual aggressive self, dominating the conversation, belittling Rhys to feel like a tough guy, but the truth is he can't handle feeling like a failure much longer. Waking up, taking tests, seeing no change, it's starting to seriously break his heart.

One morning however, when Rhys had to spend an all nighter at the office, Jack wakes up with what feels like a groggy hangover. Everything is just slightly discombobulated, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, and his eyes take a lot longer to adjust before he can confidently sit up without getting dizzy. He's not sure why he feels so peculiar - he hasn't been drunk in God knows how many months - but he's too tired to really ponder it. He rubs his eyes tirelessly with the balls of his palm, followed by stretching his arms out wide above his head until he hears a distinct crack from his back.

He thinks about getting himself breakfast, but the comforting heat of his bed is too intoxicating. He wants to snuggle down again, bury himself under his duvet and sleep away his day without a care in the world. Thankfully, just as his stomach begins to rumble, he hears the front door echo, and Rhys' tired voice call up to him.

"Before you collapse in bed, do me a favour and make some French toast, will ya, pumpkin?" Jack yells out. He grins victoriously when he hears Rhys groan in response. The sound of cutlery clinking together is like music to Jack's ears.

Rhys looks shattered when he walks into the bedroom with Jack's food. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, along with his shirt untucked and left scruffy after popping a few buttons, and his eyes struggle to keep themselves open. When the plate is in Jack's hands, he haphazardly clambers out of his suit pants and collapses with a thud into the bed beside Jack, face first in the pillows.

Jack eats his toast, staring at Rhys, amused by the sight of his wonderful alpha disheveled. It takes a few minutes before Rhys moves again, lazily sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The only sound between them is Jack's crunching.

Then Rhys frowns. He turns sharply to face the older man, staring at him quizzically. When Jack catches him he pauses mid bite.

"Wha-?" He mumbles past the toast in his mouth before taking a bite and swallowing. Rhys flares his nostrils and sniffs the air loudly, to Jack's dismay. "What's the deal, cupcake? You're being a freakin' weirdo!"

"Something smells good…" Is all Rhys can say before he's feverishly sniffing the air again. Jack rolls his eyes.

"I'm eating French toast, it's probably that."

Rhys shakes his head. "No, this is different...it's kind of sweet."

"French toast can be sweet--"

"It's not French toast, Jack!" Rhys snatches the plate from his hands to put in the bedside table. Without warning he grabs Jack possessively and sticks his nose flat against the crook of Jack's neck, scenting along their bonding point. It causes the older man to shudder, a sudden spike of heat rushing through his veins and lighting every muscle he has aflame. Rhys inhales deeply up and down his neck repeatedly. It's really sweet - almost sickenly so, but not so much Rhys would want to pull away. It's like a familiar smell, homely, that makes him want more and more so he can unlock a treasured secret. He inhales more, as if even possible.

Jack starts to feel wavy. Rhys' own alpha pheromones begin to fill the air, possessing Jack, gently rocking him into a tranquil trance. He's fully aware of what's happening, but his body is lighter than he remembers it being. It's a safe feeling, an uncontrollable peace that happens when Rhys is blissfully possessive. He moves his arm to touch Rhys' face, wanting to stroke his cheek and maybe try persuade him into a kiss if he's coherent enough to do so. He gets as far as Rhys shoulder before the younger man takes his hand in his own.

Then Rhys licks Jack's sensitive skin, and moans like he's experienced food for the first time after being starved. He licks again, then nips him softly, stopping when Jack starts purring a little too sensually. It takes a lot to pull himself away, but when he does he immediately knows the answers to all his questions. He takes Jack's face in his hands and kisses him excitedly, knocking Jack out of his state.

"You're pregnant!" Rhys cheerfully yells, bombarding Jack with congratulatory kisses. The older man mumbles in confusion, eventually able to detain Rhys from his wild excitement to actually understand what's happening. He stares at Rhys, his eyes wide like dinner bowls.

"Run that by me again, kitten?" He asks urgently, and Rhys obliges, taking his hands in his own.

"Your smell, Jack, it's different! It's us, it's a mix, and it's the most amazing smell I've ever smelled in my entire life!"

Jack is still visibly confused though, baffled by the frantic happiness his partner displays. He lets the words sink in for a moment, then moves to get out of bed, pacing the spot. He thinks about the impossibility, how it's a cruel prank, or a trick, or maybe even a dream. Is there a smell? The French toast still smells pretty good, he doesn't want to say it's him in case it's just his own gluttony tricking him.

Then Rhys pounces out of bed and nuzzles into his neck again, sniffing in short bursts before inhaling deeply again. Jack's legs go tingly, and he has to catch himself against the wall before he falls in a slump. He can feel Rhys' cock tenting his boxers, pushing up against him eagerly.

"Kid, slow your roll," Jack manages to get out, pushing Rhys off him so he can see his face, still lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'm still catching up. What's that nose of yours trying to tell me?"

Rhys composes himself best he can. He takes Jack's hands in his own and pulls them to his chest. His heart is beating like a jackhammer, fearing it might burst any second. Jack can't fault him, his is about the same if Rhys is really about to confirm what he thinks he is.

"It worked, Jack. You're pregnant."

The words carry such weight to them, Jack's embarrassed to say he actually tears up. It's a surprise to Rhys, he hadn't expected the older man to shed a tear for just about anything, but there he is, waterfalls falling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop. Jack frowns despite them, says it's Rhys' fault for inducing some omega hormone in him, but it doesn't ruin the moment. Rhys pulls him in for a long, loving hug and squeezes tight. He takes joy in nuzzling his nose into his neck again, scenting what he's now sure is their offspring, snug and protected inside Jack. It's the sweetest smell he'll ever know, he's sure.

They book a doctor's appointment to make sure it's all true, and sure enough it's confirmed. Jack gets a scan and they see their pea sized baby on a blurry black and white monitor. It's almost surreal, Jack's convinced he's still dreaming hours after the appointment. It doesn't fully register until he's back home standing in the kitchen, and Rhys has his arms wrapped around his middle. His hands are placed gently over where their child will grow. It makes both their hearts flutter to think about.

When Jack feels an airy fuzziness coming over himself again, he groans, trying to knock Rhys off. "Stop scenting me, for God's sake, or I won't be able to stand the next 9 freakin' months!"

Rhys chuckles. He kisses their bonding spot softly and leans over his shoulder slightly. "It's a really good smell though, Jack."

"Well what do you expect, it's me you're talking about. I produce only the best."

"Yeah," Rhys spins Jack around so they're facing one another and holds him in his arms. He can't help the huge, dopey grin lifting the entirety of his face. "You really do."


End file.
